I speak
by Victoria Hughes
Summary: Much to England's consternation, America keeps trying to talk to other nations in their own languages.  Worst of all, he's succeeding.  USUK friendship, with a cameo by Lithuania. Now with SpainEngland commiseration omake.
1. I speak

**I speak/Je parle/Hanashimasu/Io parlo/Yo hablo/Naega malhada/Jag talar/Ich spreche/Ik spreek/Ana atakalam/Wo shuo **  
_America+England(Lithuania), vaguely srs bsns/humor, language ridiculousness_

_APH_

England _doesn't_ keep an eye on America. (This is a lie.) It's been almost two and a half centuries since America was a colony and he wasn't even all that important a colony - kind of a venture, really, but North America as a whole was sort of a disappointment and he can't really remember why he went to war to keep America in the first place and it doesn't really matter, because America didn't really matter.

He matters now, and sometimes that grates on England. (A lot.)

So he doesn't keep an eye on America except for when America is demanding everyone's attention, which is most of the time.

America reminds him a little of Sealand, except with terrifying strength and bases all over the world. They'd get along famously. Maybe he should send Sealand America's way, see if the big oaf actually recognizes him as a nation (only if he does, then England will have to as well. Bloody _hell_, no, that's a _terrible_ idea. Why did he ever think of it?)

With the formation and strengthening of the EU, America has a hard time keeping straight which nations are members and which ones aren't, which is hilarious and insulting all at once. Also with the formation of the EU, trade talks take twice as much time because England has to go attend the EU meetings after the international ones so everyone can argue for hours about what's best to do. (Simpler times, when it took weeks to get from one end of Europe to the other and England spent most of his time finding ways to kick France in the face, are long gone, but as mind-numbing as arguing about beef standards is it's good to be at peace.) They speak English at these meetings, because that's the _lingua franca_ now (England's fault, ultimately, and how he loves to rub it in France's smug stupid face).

So while the long and mind-numbing talks keep going (nations and bosses and more nations and diplomats) England doesn't watch America and this is what he sees:

When America isn't the center of attention he gets bored, and starts talking anyway. To anyone in his general vicinity. Some nations ignore him, but most converse back because it's America and it's better to be his friend. What surprises England is that he doesn't understand a damn word of it, because America converses with them _in their own languages._

He's imagining it, right? America is an inconsiderate oaf: well-meaning, certainly, and England is perfectly happy to be in bed with him (_metaphorically!_ Metaphorically, _of course_), but this level of consideration is surely beyond him. England watches Lithuania laugh at something America says and wonders how badly the young nation is mangling the language.

But he does it with Spain, too, laughing and rubbing the back of his head when Spain makes exasperated faces at him, and he does better with Mexico and Ecuador although America is always scowling a little when he talks to her and him. He does it with the Italian brothers as well (why Romano takes the certain butchering of Italian better than Veneziano is a mystery), and Japan, whose reactions are always a mystery; China makes America scrunch up his face in evident concentration until the ancient nation smirks at him. Egypt sometimes deigns to say a few words and America always lights up, eager, and rapid-fires Arabic back at him. Poland laughs and laughs and America laughs too, unembarrassed, until Germany hisses at them to shut up so he can hear and Poland says, "like, this is totally boring formalities and we all know how this is going to end" and Italy whines, "I'm hungry!" on Germany's other side and Romano rolls his eyes and Austria sticks his nose in the air and shushes them all and Poland demands, "who died and made _you_ boss?" and Lithuania puts his hand on Poland's arm and Poland subsides but Italy keeps whining about pasta until Germany excuses himself and Veneziano and they go off to an early lunch and America watches them go with a wistful sigh.

It's a little less of a mystery with the Netherlands and Sweden and Germany and France; England, much to his chagrin, had forced America to suck it up and learn the bastard's language because it was the diplomatic language of the day; Netherlands and Sweden and Prussia and others all came to America's lands in those days and America spoke at least a few words of all their languages (_It's easier to know them,_ he said, rubbing his chest as if nursing an ache, _it makes me feel less like I'm ... you know ... in pieces._)

None of the other countries blink an eye at America's (fumbling) attempts at their own languages, which is what England really notices. How long has this been going on under his nose? He's shocked America's never boasted about all the languages he's taught himself. It's - it's _technically_ none of his damn business and he's _not paying attention_, so he shouldn't bring it up at all.

Naturally, he does anyway.

"Stop insulting the other nations by trying to speak their languages," England says.

America's digging into his cafeteria dinner; he lifts his eyes to stare at England, then swallows hard and scowls. "Hey, old man, why do you keep forgetting you can't tell me what to do anymore?"

England rolls his eyes. "It's a diplomatic _suggestion_," he snaps. "English carried the day and the other nations learn it well so you don't have to make an idiot of yourself."

America smirks at this. "Don't you mean so _you_ don't?" he asks, and England sputters.

"Excuse me, who taught you French!"

"Yeah, yeah," America grouses, and starts cutting another huge chunk of meatloaf off his styrofoam tray. "Well, you don't have to worry about it. I speak a lot of languages pretty well."

England rests his chin on his knuckles, and he might be enjoying needling America a little too much. "I highly doubt that."

"How would you know?" America chews and swallows. "You don't speak Polish or Swahili or Russian or anything. Probably all the languages _you_ know are _dead_."

"You speak English!" England shoots back, exasperated: he knows Old English and Latin and Welsh and Irish and Scottish and technically learned French because there was that time long ago when France ruled over him, but- "Or some butchered variety of it. Given what you've done to our shared language I can only imagine what you're doing to-"

"Hey, hey!" America puts out a hand, grinning even though his eyebrows are pinched. "At least _my_ English makes _some_ sense. Why does the word 'color' need a 'u' in it anyway!"

"That's how it's supposed to be spelled!"

"Admit it. You made up English spelling when you were like, five or something." America has the upper hand now and he pushes. "I read this funny quote on the Internet the other day - uh ... 'English is a language that beats up other languages in dark alleyways and rifles in their pockets for spare vocabulary'. Is that how it works, England?"

England grunts in annoyance; he's seen that quote too. "You tell me, if you know so many other languages."

America thinks about it for a second or two (is he being patronizing or insulting or both at once?), and comes out with the verdict, "It sure does." He grins and goes back to his meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

England huffs and tries to drag the conversation back to its point. "In any case, I'm simply trying to save you from making a fool of yourself. The other nations laugh at you when you're talking to them."

America gives England a hurt look. "They're not laughing _at_ me. They're laughing because I said something _funny_. On _purpose._" He starts scraping up the leftover gravy with the side of his fork, other hand resting in his lap (funny American custom that it is). You don't get it. I really do speak a lot of languages - some of them not very well, I guess, and some of them I speak a little old-fashioned, or weird dialects, but I'm not _butchering_ them." He pauses. "Except maybe Spanish. Spain's always making funny faces at me. I speak the versions that Mexico and Chile and the other nations from South and Central America have better, and it's a little hard to keep them straight. Portuguese, too, actually."

England sighs. "How many languages do you speak, America?"

"Uh ..." America screws up his face. "I dunno. How many languages are there in the world? I think I speak most of 'em."

England just looks at America for a long moment. "You taught yourself over two hundred languages and dialects thereof." It's not a question, because this is an outright _lie_. As much as America is all energy and eagerness and always looking for a fun time, he knows the hours the younger nation keeps, and they are purely ridiculous - and even if America spent all his free time teaching himself the languages of the world, he wouldn't be nearly through them all!

America laughs. "No way! Like I have the time!" He looks thoughtfully towards the cafeteria counter, obviously considering seconds, then glances at his watch and shrugs slightly. "I just know 'em!" He leans across the table as if he's telling England a secret; England resists the urge to lean back. "All these people from all the different nations come to me, and live with me, and a lot of them become _part_ of me. So of course I speak the languages they brought from their old home. Isn't that how it works?"

England stares at him. "No, that's - that's not how it works at all," he protests. "People from other nations have become part of me as well, and I don't learn their language. Germany is similar, as are others."

America purses his lips a little at this. "Hm," he says, thoughtful, and sits back in his chair. "I wonder why, then?" After a brief little (puzzled) silence, though, America pushes his chair back and stands, swiping up his empty tray. "It's time to go back! Not that _that's_ anything to be excited about ..." he grumbles and looks around for a trashcan.

But if America immediately forgets the question of why he (supposedly) speaks most of the world's languages, England doesn't. He puzzles over it for the afternoon and into the evening, and when they adjourn again for the day, he finds himself walking out side by side with Lithuania.

The nation is older than England, and he's very mild, especially considering that England never forgot when he and Poland were a Commonwealth and significantly larger than their current borders because they _soundly kicked everyone's arse_, but England recalls that the Baltic state had lived with America for a little while some ninety years ago. "Excuse me, Lithuania," he says, polite, and Lithuania looks round to him.

"Oh, England! Hullo," he says, in perfect and only slightly accented English. "What's on your mind?"

"It's not my place to speak for America, but as a fellow English-speaking nation, I apologize for his attempts to speak Lithuanian. I tried to persuade him today to stick with English but-"

Lithuania startles him by laughing. "America's Lithuanian is very good," he says, and England's eyebrows rise. "It's a little rusty now, I can tell, but he spoke it perfectly when I lived with him. Rather, he taught me English."

"I'm sorry for that, too," England says under his breath, but he's surprised, and it shows.

Lithuania walks just a little closer. "A lot of my people moved to America when I lived with him. He spoke excellent Italian, too - Romano helped a little - and a good amount of German as well. It's all thanks to the immigrants he took in, and I'm grateful. He's less accommodating now, I guess, but he's always been welcoming."

"But how does he just - learn new languages when new people move to his land?" England protests. "It doesn't work that way. It doesn't work that way for you, does it?"

Lithuania's face falls and England smacks his face into his palm. "I'm sorry, that was unthinking of me."

"No, it is unusual," Lithuania says, brushing the incident aside with a slight hand gesture. "But it's easy to know why. America doesn't have an official language - he never has. Yes, English is his _dominant_ language, but he never decided it was the only language he speaks." Lithuania smiles at England. "I think it's rather kind of him. And given his strength ... I think we should all be relieved he's chosen kindness."

Lithuania tips his head forward and shakes England's hand in farewell for the day, and England stands on the street corner, contemplative - _as if America thought it through!_ - until America slings his arm over England's shoulders, startling him. "Hey, old man! You're done with the boring EU talks for today, right? Let's go get some proper American food!"

England shrugs America's arm off. "I'm going back to my hotel room. And I'm drinking _tea_."

"Ugh," America says, making a face. "Have fun with that." He pauses. "By the way, I was thinking about why I can speak the languages of all the immigrants, and I realized of _course_ I can. I'm _awesome!_"

England raises one bushy eyebrow. "I've thought about it too, and it seems more likely that your indecisiveness on picking an official language is to blame. What's wrong with English, I ask you?"

America looks vaguely guilty, which for him is hardly guilty at all - his brows pinched into a worried look, his shoulders slightly hunched. "Nothing, really," he says. "But - I _like_ knowing all these languages. I like that everyone can speak comfortably with me. Is that wrong?" He pauses. "Not that your opinion's gonna change my mind."

England thinks of history, of language barriers, the translators in the UN and his slow-to-settle shock that America could serve for all of them. "It's - very typical of you," he says at length, to avoid giving America a compliment, but he clearly hears one anyway.

America puffs out his chest. "I know! It's really cool, isn't it?" Then his gaze shifts over England's shoulder and he waves at someone. "Hey, Australia, I've totally been meaning to catch up with you!"

"_What about me!_" a plaintive voice from a distance and England turns to see Australia and ... ah, yes, Canada walking towards them.

"You too," America says, and starts forward. "Gotta go, England! Maybe you should brush up on your French. I think France called you the son of a midwife and a horse or something and you didn't even react." He winks and runs off, waving.

England sucks a huge, shaking breath through his teeth and goes to find _that bloody French sod_, because fortunately, their armistice does _not_ forbid bar brawls.

_Fin_

_APH_

_a few notes:_

_the title is written in English, French, Japanese, Italian, Spanish, Korean, Swedish, German, Dutch, Arabic, and Chinese, mostly because I could find these written out in the Roman alphabet and don't seem to be butchered. I myself speak only English and a little Spanish and Japanese._

_To this day America doesn't have an official language (although many states have official languages) - a fact that had brought some consternation in recent years with the heavy influx of Spanish-speaking immigrants. (Neither does the UK, although each country within has its own laws, which I conveniently ignore in this fic because 95 percent of England's population speaks English primarily.)  
_

_Lithuania has a high suicide/homicide rate and a low birth rate. He's also a combat butler and along with Poland kicked Austrian, Prussian, and Russian ass back in the day._

_England was at one point owned by the Roman Empire and later occupied by France, hence knowing Latin and French._

_Americans keep wildly long work hours compared to most European nations. Also, it is customary in America to put down one's knife while eating and leave the unused hand in your lap. Most European countries' etiquette is to keep both fork and knife in hand for the whole meal.  
_


	2. He speaks

**He speaks/El hablar**  
_England+Spain (US/UK hints?), humor, some unfunny colonial business_

The last time England and Spain really had anything in common was when America was still the New World; Spain was a _conquistador_ and England was a pirate and England had gladly strangled the life out of Spain's fleet with the clever use of privateers (pirates) and there was a lot of unpleasantness all around. (England remembers this fondly; Spain, not so much.)

(_"-bastard, I know you're responsible for this," he snarled, black eye fading into his tanned skin, and England took Queen Elizabeth's hand and smiled demurely and said, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."_

The Queen smiled and fingered the gold ring Spain had found and England had taken from him. "Of course we have no connection to the men attacking your ships."

"Why you-")

Well, okay, there was that time when he and the rest of Europe read that ridiculous document a young, newly-minted United States of America had waved in their faces ("I'm claiming this half of the world for _myself_," he said imperiously, sweeping a hand over the map. "Keep out!") and he and Spain especially had _laughed and laughed_, arms flung around one another's shoulders, while Portugal chuckled and glared at Spain nearby, and some football ridiculousness that England tries to deny caring about (rugby is so much better, but he still gets worked up every four years during the World Cup), but otherwise, they just don't have much to talk about.

England stomps into the EU meeting fresh off a phone call from America, which is trying at the best of times, and the only seat available is next to Spain (Romano has, notably, squeezed himself in between Veneziano and Germany and is glaring alternately at the empty seat and his former mentor while enduring Veneziano's hug), so he flings himself into it and sits, stewing, while the nations chat before the meeting is called to order.

"Is something wrong, Inglaterra?" Spain asks, leaning back in his chair contentedly, and England slumps forward and rests his head in his arms.

"I taught him proper English, you know," he complains, not bothering to give this statement context. "I taught it to him and then he _bastardized_ it. On purpose! His very first dictionary had _purposely changed the spelling_ and the meaning of words and he did it just to _infuriate_ me!"

England doesn't see Spain nod sagely. "América, si? I know just how you feel, Inglaterra. He speaks to me in Espanol and I hardly know my own language, so strange it is."

England sits up, his elbows still resting on the table, and twists to look at Spain. "He does it to you, too, huh? He told me he learned most of his Spanish from Mexico and other Central America nations."

"Of course he did," Spain sighs. "And this is all right. My language has changed a lot in their hands. But I only wish he'd try to speak Espanol in its original form to _me_, at least."

"_Honestly_," England commiserates. "He's so proud of knowing all these languages and their _dialects_, so why can't he speak the _proper_ English 'dialect' with me!"

Spain grins. There is something very lazy about him in everything, so laid-back and easygoing. England blames his climate. "Because it makes you angry, of course."

"America doesn't think that far ahead," England grouses, and rests his chin on his forearms again. "He talks too fast."

"Ah, well, of course I would know nothing about nations who like to annoy their former mentors," Spain says.

"I heard that," Romano snarls from the other side of the table, and Spain grins.

"If only you could have remained that cute, small boy ..."

"You are _sick_, you know that!"

England ignores this exchange, imagining America speaking proper English as he should.

(_"Tally-ho, stiff upper lip and all that," America says, grinning. "Tut tut, that won't do at all. Make sure your baggage full of pants is in the boot. No need for a bobby. Tighten your trousers and ... what's the word for 'suspenders' again?"_)

"On second thought," he interrupts Spain's riposte with Romano, "He can keep his silly 'American'."

"At least you're on friendly terms," Spain suggests.

"No, we're not."

"Yes you are." Spain settles back in his chair, closing his eyes. "Wake me when the meeting starts."

_... Yes, we are,_ England thinks, and puts his face in his palms.

_fin_

_a few notes:_

Back when Elizabeth I was the queen, England had an agreement with privateers/pirates that they wouldn't attack pirate ships and the pirates would only loot Spanish/foreign ships. This was instrumental in crushing Spain's empire in the New World and bringing England to its naval superiority of the 1700's.

Relatively early in its nationhood the USA created The Monroe Doctrine, which said all of North and South America was off-limits to Europe. England, who still had Canada as a territory/colony/commonwealth at the time, probably laughed his ass off at it. And Spain and Portugal, who had changed the face of South America for all time, probably thought it was pretty funny too.

Webster's first American-English dictionary, published in 1820, purposely changed the spelling of English words to make them simpler. By virtue of being separated by an ocean, the meaning of some words had changed all on their own.

Anyone who has studied Spanish in class can tell you that class Spanish (Spain's Spanish) is not really at all like Spanish from Central and South America, and of course every country has their own dialect. On a related note, colonization is not funny, and the fact that the indigenous people of S&CA had Spanish and Portuguese forced on them is typical of the hurtful squashing of native languages involved in colonization.

Imaginary!America's 'proper English' is just throwing a whole bunch of English words I learned in 3rd grade into a paragraph. This, I think, would be current!America's idea of speaking 'proper' English. 


End file.
